Splatterlog
by Forlorn Melody
Summary: Of all the tributes captured after the 3rd Quarter Quell, Johanna Mason was the only one with information. This is how she paid for it, one drop at a time. No pairings determined...yet. Rated M for violence, swearing, and sensual themes
1. Greetings

Hey! This is not my first fanfic, but it is my first foray in to Hunger Games fanfiction. While I love the series, it always bugged me that we never heard about what happened to Johanna after the rebellion in Mockingjay. In reading fanfics, (several of them delicious and worth favoriting), I hadn't found one that really dealt with Johanna's trauma in detail. Here's my take on that.

**DISCLAIMERS: **I don't own the Johanna, Peeta, or Snow, not the Peacekeepers, or _the Hunger Games_. If I did my $24,000 in college loans would probably be paid for right now.

Also, **this fic is rated M** for several reasons: 1) Johanna's mouthy, even in her thoughts, and I won't be censoring her f-bombs. 2) This deals with her time in the Capitol during Mockingjay. I'm not going light on the torture/interrogation scenes, and my readers will quickly realize this fic is is/will be one of the most brutal things I've ever written. 3) There's a possibility of some juicy flashbacks/fantasies in future chapters. This is Miss Mason's story, after all.

* * *

When Johanna Mason opened her eyes, she saw nothing. Had they killed her already? She felt around her neck, though her wrist felt like lead. _Of course not, Brainless. You still have a pulse._ So she wasn't dead. Somehow that thought didn't reassure her much. If Johanna had survived, then what happened?

The memories of her last day in the arena hit her so hard that her head smacked against the concrete wall behind her. Beetee's wire. Wanting to bash Katniss Everdeen's head in. The moment where Johanna got her chance, sort of. Cutting the trackers out of both their arms. Luring Brutus and Enobaria away from the girl from District 12. Running into Peeta Mellark and Chaff. The fight with Brutus and Enobaria. Cannon fire. Hitting the ground as the force field exploded. The hovercraft in the air, lowering bit by bit.

Johanna swallowed hard as the headache set in. So. She made it out of the arena, alive, and by the feel of things, in one piece. What about Finnick? Bolts? Lover Boy? And most importantly…and annoyingly, Knocked-Up Girl?

_Worry about her later, Brainless. _Johanna couldn't hear anything but her own pulse. She was alone, wherever she was. It couldn't be the Stockyard; it at least had decent lighting. In all their hushed plans, no one had bothered to tell her what 13 looked like. _You're not going to find out just sitting here. _

When she felt around for a light switch, it dawned on her. Johanna's arms weren't just tired, they were chained.

On cue, the lights blared on above her, making her eyes water, and her headache pound inside her skull. Johanna quickly took in her cell, looking for any escape routes. There was the door, with bolts like the inside of a vault, and an eye scanner. On the opposite end of the room she saw a mirror, nearly the whole length of the wall, and probably two-way. At the corners of the ceiling, she saw two small white speakers. Besides those, Johanna didn't find a break in the concrete, except for the vents at the top of the walls, vents too small for even her to squeeze through.

_Shit_.

"Greetings, Johanna. I hope you enjoyed your nap." President Snow's voice wafted out of the speakers like clouds of cheap perfume.

Her expression only wavered a second, before her victor's instinct kicked in. Johanna didn't win the 71st Hunger Games by letting them see everything. She ignored her pulse thrumming in her ear like water after a long swim. She ignored her thirst, and cramps in her arms and legs. She ignored even the nagging questions on Finnick, Beetee, Peeta, even Katniss, and focused on the one that would keep her alive. "What do you want, Snow?"

The chains on her wrists and ankles groaned as she turned to face the two-way mirror. It didn't matter if Snow was too afraid of her to enter the room himself; Johanna knew he'd be close by.

"I want you to tell me what happened to Katniss Everdeen."

Johanna relaxed ever so slightly. Good. Snow didn't know where she was, so that could only mean one thing: The rebel's favorite plaything got out of the arena too, and wasn't in Capitol custody, like her. "Who said I knew anything? The last thing I remember before walking up here is being picked up by your stupid hovercraft."

"I'm afraid you know more than you're telling us, Johanna Mason, so let me remind you _why_ you will be answering my _all _of my questions in full."

She heard the hiss of the door lock opening, and the grind of the gears as someone pushed on the handle. Two peacekeepers walked into the room, halting at her sides. Goody. One of them carried in a chair, and the other grabbed her arms as the door hissed shut.

_Shit! _

Within two seconds Johanna Mason found herself sitting against the back of this metallic chair, and in another three seconds her wrists and ankles were shackled to it. _Fuck. Don't panic. Fuck, Fuck Fuck._

"Now, Miss Mason. Do you remember what happened to Katniss Everdeen?"

Johanna didn't have lift her head to see the tazer sticks in their hands in her peripheral vision. They were going to beat and shock her senseless if she didn't tell. So Johanna said the only thing she could say "Sure I do." She grinned. "They sent her right up you're a—"

The next thing out of her mouth was her own gut-wrenching scream as the guy on her right smacked the stick against her arm. _**Fucking warped chainsaws**__, that hurts. _

To her disappointment, Snow's voice barely had any edge to it, like he had expected her to be difficult. "That's not an answer, Johanna." _Game on, Mr. President_.

"Did you forget?" Johanna laughed through gritted teeth. "You can't hurt me anymore." Never mind what her body told her now.

"I can't?" This time the tazers came at her from both sides. Her body began to shake.

Against her will, Johanna's scream ended in a whimper. "Fuck you." She managed to get out.

As the men in white rained their fists down on her and shocked her in places she had forgotten the existence of, Johanna relied on one thought to get her through. No matter what game Snow decided to play with her, she wouldn't let him win.

Finally, Snow called them off, not through the speakers, but through a buzz in their earpieces, and the breathing drones left her alone. Mr. Right handed his tazing pole to Mr. Left, and unfastened a rattled and sweating Johanna from the chair, and he pushed her down against the spattered concrete. She didn't even think of fighting him as he shackled her back to the floor. Johanna leaned her head against her arm, and focused on breathing, just breathing. Her body flinched involuntarily when the door hissed shut again, leaving her alone. Completely and utterly alone, until Snow got bored again.

"Johanna?" A soft voice came through the vents behind her. Okay, maybe they hadn't left her completely alone.

The girl in question tried to convince herself that he being here was a good thing. That she would have someone to talk to after the interrogations. Someone to remind her that not everyone in the world was out there to fuck up her life. Still, Johanna wouldn't have wished the Capitol treatment on anyone, especially him.

She meant to sound more biting and angry, but when the words came out, a weary sigh came with them. "Bread Boy, what in hell are you doing here?"

* * *

I hope you enjoyed (er…perhaps there's a better word …) reading this as I did writing it. It's been far too long (at least a year, I think) since I wrote anything fanfic-wise. I've been working on my original novel extensively, but it's nice to take a break and just write for kicks.

Please **review!** Anyone who's read my stuff before knows I'm a review-addict, and love hearing your thoughts, however random they may be.


	2. Flapjacks with Butter & Syrup

Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry to my reviewers who I promised an earlier posting. It wasn't really one circumstance or event that slowed me down, just a lot of things that added up. Not to mention there was more to cover in this chapter, and I found the suspense/intrigue a little more difficult to write than sheer adrenaline. Anyway, I'm typing this note from an office in a state patrol airplane hanger, and I think it helped the mood towards the end. Let me know what you think!

* * *

Johanna woke up with an ache all over her body, and a searing headache. _At least it's not pounding through your skull anymore_. The room was dark again, and probably empty. Slowly and painfully Johanna recalled what happened the night before. At least, she assumed she'd only been out for a few hours, and the Capitol drones wouldn't torture her for more than several hours at a time, right? She couldn't be sure. Even Peeta's questioning seemed only half-real.

"Bread boy?" Johanna called out, raising her head to where she knew the vents were.

No response.

"Peeta?"

Silence. Johanna swallowed. Snow wouldn't have had him killed already, would he? Maybe Peeta Mellark was better off dead. Killing him would definitely shatter the sappy girl from District 12. And yet, Johanna knew Peeta was still alive. Panem's president preferred to play with his prey before he smashed its head open.

* * *

Eventually as the hours passed, Johanna started pressing her ear against the wall, in case she could hear any proof of his existence. She didn't even really know why she cared. Peeta was just another victor, and he wasn't Blight, and he _definitely _wasn't Finnick. Johanna winced at the sound of their names in her head. Funny how knowing the first was a crispy corpse and the second was as good as dead hurt worse than any of her bruises and burns. _Just forget them, like everyone else._

In the end, forgetting never really worked. Sure, Johanna could shove her fellow tributes into the deep dark corners of her mind, but they wouldn't stay there. Nothing stayed tucked away forever.

Like when the drones turned on the light again. Except when Johanna stopped squinting, she didn't see drones. She saw her prep team, and her second-least favorite person in the world: her stylist.

"Goody." Johanna didn't bother looking up at her. She'd take a beating over _prep_ any day.

Priscilla eyed her with the same enthusiasm as she would a rotting log. "Nice to see you too, Miss Mason."

"You're putting me in a tree suit again?" Johanna lifted up her chin, with a smirk that made her stylist squirm. Sure they were friends, in an 'I hope you get hit by a train' sort of way.

"No." Priscilla wrinkled her nose as much as her plastic surgery would allow, which wasn't much. "I'm getting you _presentable_ for dinner."

"What dinner?" Her prep team had already grabbed Johanna's arms unceremoniously, and started scrubbing them clean, scabs and all.

"You'll see."

Johanna hissed when they waxed her legs. _Shit, that hurts. _Even more than the first time.

She was only 15 on her reaping day, standing in the hot summer sun with the rest of the children from District 7. Three years older than the youngest tributes, but never old enough to kill someone. Johanna had been so busy trying to make out the patterns on the lady's face that she didn't even hear her name being called. Instead, Johanna heard silence, and then the scrapping of worn leather shoes against the stones of the square. A breeze caught her calves below her skirt, and then Johanna knew she had missed something. Looking around, she didn't see the crowd that had been around her before-instead she saw a circle, one that quickly parted for two men in white suits and helmets.

The remainder of that day blurred in her mind, even the face of the other tribute from District 7. He died the first day, at the Cornucopia, while Johanna ran for the forest. They hardly saw each other in training, each with their own mentor, and prep team. She remembered that he was older, and looked like he had already been on some logging rigs; after all he had the scars and the tan to prove it.

Johanna had nothing remarkable about her looks, and Priscilla never let her hear the end of it.

"I was hoping for a redhead. She would look _so _lovely in this year's dress."

"Why is your hair so…flat? Even the tone is dull, like your eyes."

Johanna would have bit her head off right then and there, if she weren't busy screaming from the hair being ripped off her legs. She liked her eyes; they were her father's—

"Are you even listening to me?"

Johanna blinked once at her stylist, and then grinned. "Of course not. Could you quit screeching? I'm trying to ignore you."

Priscilla glowered as she adjusted her grasp on the end of the waxing strips near her eyebrows. "I'm almost finished with you, but you'll wish I wasn't." She smirked back at her as she tore the trips off Johanna's face.

Her stylist pulled away, and let the prep team take care of Johanna's injuries. They put a clear goop on her bruises and scabs that felt cool on contact. Within seconds though, it was white hot. Johanna hissed, keeping District 7's particular vocabulary to herself. Getting her body speed-healed almost hurt worse than the injuries in the first place. And the odor nearly made her puke. If only Priscilla would stand a little closer, so Johanna could put her barf to good use.

Finally, her prep team left, and the drones came to take their place. She stumbled only a little as they dragged her down the hall.

* * *

Johanna's escorts held each of her arms in one of their iron grips, and pushed the double doors open. They entered a room five times the size of her cell. Light poured in from stained glass windows on every side, casting the room in vibrant colors. Johanna only noticed all of this, because of the effect it had on President Snow, or, maybe, the effect _he_ had on the room.

The windows stained Snow's hair scarlet, save for the gold halo on the crown on his head, one that Johanna Mason knew didn't belong there. She would charge right across the long table between them, scattering the feast all over the white table cloth and the tiled floor, and rip his hair from his scalp…if only she could move from her spot between the double doors.

"Welcome. I was hoping you could make it." Snow never really smiled with his mouth, but Johanna could see the smirk flash across his eyes.

"They gave me two choices…eat with Snow…or eat with Snow." As Johanna sat down, the cloud of rosy smells hit her nostrils. _Oh fuck, don't think about it. __**Don't**_.

Waxy, still bodies in a wood-paneled room flashed across Johanna's vision, and she dug her nails into her palms to shut it out.

"—heard these are popular in District 7. Please, enjoy."

Johanna looked up, having missed part of what Snow said. Popular? She looked down, half expecting gold, diamond encrusted pinecones, or some other Capitol nonsense. Finally she could smell something other than the reeking roses, and it made her mouth water. Stacks of flapjacks with squares of butter on top, and ribbons of maple syrup. Plates of eggs, boiled and fried, with cheese and herbs, next to plates of bacon. Bowls of fruit-sculpted and cut into tiny trees. Sure, in some ways it reminded Johanna of a logger's feast back home, except apparently in the Capitol cooks had more time on their hands.

Her stomach growled before Johanna had time to think. She swallowed her saliva down her throat, trying not to drool all over the stupid table cloth. Johanna should have seen this coming. After all, the drones hadn't even given her an IV to keep her alive; as they often did to the prisoners they wanted information from. No one could answer questions dead.

"Johanna, I wouldn't go to all this trouble just to poison you, would I?"

_Yes, yes you would. _Finnick had told her as much. "What do you want?" Johanna couldn't help but swallow hard. Seeing the black coffee and grape juice reminded her that she hadn't had an actual drink in at least a day, maybe more.

"My _wants_ have not changed."

"You might as well feed this to your mutts, because I'm not telling…you anything." Her voice stumbled on the last words, in spite of her will not to.

"You must be starving." Snow sipped from a gold goblet, with a giant _C_ carved into it."

Johanna wondered if staying alive was worth it. She'd be lucky if he wanted her dead today. It's not like she had anything to lose by taking at least one…tasty…warm…savory…bite. Glancing at Snow, she served herself some flapjacks, bacon, and eggs, and blueberries. Her gaze didn't waver as she drowned it in butter and syrup. Without using her knife, Johanna cut up her food into tiny pieces with her fork, and then stirred it all up together, and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. "Not bad." She said with her mouth full.

It was then Johanna noticed that the stained glass was outlined with black iron thorns, and the glass was formed by roses. Her food didn't go down easily when she swallowed. Johanna's eyes drifted down the beverage choices, and reached for the water. She poured it into her glass, and sniffed it carefully, and even eyed the liquid inside to see if it was clear enough. Then she took a sip, just a sip, and swished it around her mouth. _No truth serum. _Okay.

"So…all this is just to butter me up?" Johanna held the clean knife between her index finger and thumb, twirling it in the air.

"I can be reasonable, Miss Mason, but I must have a reason to trust you."

Johanna snorted. "You can't trust me; you know that."

"The rebels trust you, don't they?" Snow looked up from his untouched plate.

"Of course they do. They trust me so much they left me with alone with you and your toys."

"Ah, so they favor their _Mockingjay_ over you."

Johanna shrugged. Honestly, Bread Boy would probably be more useful to them—he didn't stumble on his words, and he wouldn't stick his foot in his mouth. Maybe—at least Johanna hoped so—the rebels had intended to rescue _all _of them, but hardly anything went to plan once Katniss blew everything sky high.

"You can have everything the way it was, and more, if you only tell us what you know."

Johanna answered by throwing her steak knife at Snow's head. The things she really wanted he couldn't give her if he tried. Snow had already made sure of that. She watched as the knife raced across the room, holding her breath. Unfortunately her talent wasn't with knives. It managed to trim one lock of his chalky locks before it buried itself into the wall.

She only saw the narrowing of his eyes before a bag was thrown over her head, and the gloved hands of his so-called peacekeepers as they dragged her off.


	3. Old Friends

Author's Note: This chapter was by far, the hardest to write. It does contain sexual torture and rape, as well as a very sexy flashback. You've been warned. On a brighter note, Finnick Odair makes an appearance, so you're welcome to skim until he comes swaggering along.

* * *

Johanna fell asleep several times, only to wake up in darkness. She had one way to tell the time: feeling the drops of sugar water slip into her bloodstream. It wouldn't have been so bad, if it weren't for the lack of company. _Maybe he got away_. Snorting, Johanna shook her head. There's no way a gimp with a titanium leg could sneak out of the Capitol's highest security prison. For a split second Johanna thought of it as the securest in _Panem_, but she had a pretty good feeling it wasn't.

That's why Johanna was here, wasn't it? Because Snow and his drones couldn't crack Thirteen?

Not that she'd be much help to the Capitol anyway, even if she wanted to be. Most of what she knew had to do with getting out of the arena, and _why_ Thirteen wanted Katniss on their side. Anything about getting inside, or the Rebellion's weaknesses, well, Johanna had only heard rumors.

"Johanna?" His voice sounded fainter, and she couldn't be sure, but Johanna thought she heard him shaking as he said it. "Are you okay?"

She blinked. Bread boy _cared_ about her? Then again, he cared about everybody, didn't he? Johanna sighed as she sank further down against the concrete wall. "Relax, I'm fine." Never mind knowing her 'downtime' was running out.

He didn't sound convinced. "Snow said he'd…keep hurting you if the Rebellion didn't stop."

"Oh, is that all?" Johanna snickered. "He must be getting sof—"

"And he'd kill Katniss."

"Relax, Brainless. She's out of his hands, remember?" Johanna fingered her IV idly. "That's why I'm here. Because he can't get to her."

"I don't want him to hurt you either."

"He can't hurt me anymore, remember?" Not in any way that counted. Johanna laughed at Bread Boy's innocence. Poor kid had no idea how awful the Capitol could be when it was supposedly being _nice_ to you.

Johanna's laughter stopped short as the door opened again. A beam of a flashlight slid back and forth across the floor before landing on her face. "Is the power out or something?" Why weren't they turning the light on?

Two pairs of black boots stepped into the room, followed by another flashlight beam. "Consider this a less…official visit." This one stopped at her waist. Johanna swallowed hard.

They paused as if sizing her up. As if she'd be much trouble running on nothing but an IV.

"Johanna?" Peeta said, his voice rising in alarm.

Her reflection flashed against the glass of the left helmet as the Peacekeeper turned his head. His grin flashed briefly too. "You don't mind if he hears, do you Mason?"

"It's _Miss_ Mason." Johanna snarled like a cornered animal. "And leave him out of this."

"President Snow has ordered that the prisoners _not_ be moved." The grin spread to the drone on the right.

"He probably also ordered you to stay _out_." If only they'd step a little closer, so Johanna could trip them in the dark. They didn't. Lefty set down a chair while Righty grabbed her leg and unlocked her ankles. Johanna immediately kicked at his shins. Hissing, Righty held on tighter, and yanked her from the floor. The chains on her wrists kept her from moving across the room.

"You'll regret that." Righty snarled. He chained her feet to the front legs of the chair while Lefty worked on her wrists.

"Don't _touch_ her!" Peeta pounded on the wall. Wait a sec, why were _his _hands free?

They left the flashlights on the floor, using the concrete to reflect the light back up at her. Johanna didn't want to think about it, but it looked like they had done this before. Leaving her chains on, they worked on taking her clothes off. Unlike most unwanted company, they took care not to destroy her clothes. Lefty even folded them before setting them aside. Johanna debated the pros and cons of barfing all over him.

Each of them peeled off their helmets, but Johanna still had trouble making out their faces. Righty's hair was a little shaggier than Lefty's, and Lefty had a square jaw. One side of it grazed her cheek as he whispered in her ear "Tell us the truth and we'll stop."

"Leave her alone!"

Somehow she knew this was more 'official' than the drones let on. Knowing _why_ hurt Johanna much more than they did. Sure, Snow planned on breaking Katniss, but he was drawing it out in the worst way possible. He would break her by breaking Peeta-and Johanna still had trouble imagining it—by breaking _her_ first. _This is so fucking __**wrong**_. "Stop!" Johanna cried out, thrashing.

"What's the matter?" Lefty held her arm tighter, his breath hot against her ear.

"No one left to save you?"

Johanna swallowed hard. It was pointless to fight it. The drones had her limbs pinned so well that she couldn't get enough momentum to push them away, let alone hurt them. They took turns prodding and probing, beating and biting, striking and teasing her. It would be so easy, they told her, to give in. All of this would stop, supposedly, and she'd get her old life back. Obviously, they meant her life after the Hunger Games, not before. How many times did she have to tell them?

"I don't _want_ your fucked-up life."

Righty snickered. "As you wish." Johanna hissed as he shoved himself inside her.

Since she couldn't fight them, and she couldn't give in, Johanna Mason only knew one way to escape. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, and allow her mind to take her away.

She remembered her first. No, it wasn't Doug, as much as Johanna wished it was. It wasn't love, hell, Johanna wasn't even sure if it was lust. It was a goddamn lesson from a _friend_. As much as Johanna didn't want to admit it, even she couldn't tell Finnick Odair no.

"What the hell are you doing!" Johanna jerked away from him after he pressed his lips against hers. As much as she hated to think about it, his lips were nice and _warm_, just like that stupid beach he couldn't stop talking about.

"Showing you how to kiss someone from the Capitol." She couldn't see a hint of a smile in his eyes, or his voice. It freaked her out. Johanna struggled, pushing at his chest.

"Get your hands _off_ me, Odair!"

He only held her tighter, and _augh, _he was strong. All that training in the gym and the swimming pool to keep up his victor physique certainly had its other benefits. The most notorious being the cooing of all his raving fan girls. Johanna wasn't one of them. "Just relax, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're pinching my arm right _now_, Fish Face."

"Only because I can tell you're aiming for my nose." There was his smile, as if Finnick couldn't help it. Johanna relaxed, only because she had never seen that smile on the Capitol screens, not even at the Victory Tour banquets. With a shock, Johanna realized she was seeing Finnick Odair, the _real_ one. "Now kiss me, but make sure to press hard. They'll be expecting that, because they think you're vicious."

"I _am_ vicious." Johanna aimed a kick behind his knee, and missed, because he was too fucking tall.

"Johanna, you're not kissing me." He looked slightly impatient.

"If you want a fuck buddy, why don't you go check out some of your fan girls? Or do you prefer guys?"

And then, for the first time, Johanna saw Finnick get angry. The colors in his eyes turned like water in a storm, and his grip tightened, harder than stone. "You think I _want_ them?" His voice was low, and cold. "Johanna, I'm _trying _to _help_ you."

"Help me what?"

"Do you honestly think the Games are over for you?" Finnick softened slightly, but he still held her tight.

"I won them, didn't I?"

Finnick rolled his eyes. "It's not over."

"Yes it is! I'm going home, and I'm going to stay where these Capitol idiots can't get to me."

He didn't budge. "There's the endless paparazzi, the interviews, the mentoring of future tributes…."

Oh right, Johanna had forgotten about that. District Seven's last female victor had died three years before Johanna's reaping. So _she'd_ be stuck mentoring every girl tribute until one of them managed to win. Which, if history repeated itself, wouldn't happen until Johanna was 95. She doubted she'd live that long.

"Johanna, are you even listening?"

"Huh?" Johanna could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. _Oh no, this isn't happening. Tell me this isn't happening_….

Finnick's face stood just inches from hers, close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her lips, and far enough away that his eyes were still in focus as he gazed into hers. "Sometimes the Victors come out with only a few scratches, _and_ a huge fanbase." He fidgeted, though his grip didn't wane at all. "The Capitol found a way to…make money off of it."

"What the hell does _that _have to do with _this_?" She jabbed his bottom lip with her finger.

"Good _God_ you're thick." Finnick sighed heavily. "Johanna, they _sell _us to the highest bidders…over and over again until…" He swallowed hard, flinching as if someone had just sliced him with a knife.

"Until what?" Johanna's mind was spinning out of control, no thanks to him.

"Until we're nothing more than one of their _products_." Finnick looked desperate, and in pain, nothing like she had ever seen in his Games.

She laughed. "Well, Snow can stuff it up his ass for all I care. I'm not screwing any of his cronies. What's he gonna do? Stop paying my _ren—ow!"_

"Johanna, he'll _kill _everyone you love. Your family, your friends…any lovers, past or _present_." Johanna had trouble reading the look in his eyes. "You don't want to give him any reason to hurt them, okay? So you need to _satisfy_ your _clients_." Finnick's eyes narrowed. "Have you had sex before?"

"What! That's _none _of your fucking business you—" Yep, Finnick Odair was _way _more obnoxious in person. Why was Johanna's face only getting redder? Yes, Finnick was attractive, but he was more than _annoying _enough to make up for it. _Gah_.

"Really?" The smirk almost returned, and then it fell from Finnick's face. He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor, as if he felt ashamed. "Then I'm sorry…for this, right now, but trust me. You'll thank me later.

"Thank y—mmph!" And just like that, Finnick's lips were on hers again.

It wasn't fair really, his kisses were soft and warm, but the squeezing on her arms told her he expected her to kiss back hot, and hard. _I can't believe I'm doing this._ At first, Johanna hesitated, but then she figured that she could do worse for her first.

Of all the girls in the Capitol, Finnick had to go after the one who _wasn't _interested in his body. Sure, Johanna had thought about it from time to time; it was a lot easier to think about the pretty boy than about the emptiness of her furnished room on the train. Once Finnick got in your head, it was impossible to get him back out. Especially when he was kissing you.

Finnick coughed and left his mouth open. When Johanna didn't respond he pinched her arm. "Ow!" Next thing she knew her tongue was in his mouth and a shiver was traveling from the back of her neck down to her toes.

Their tongues wrestled in a unique fight to the end. Johanna would be lying if she said this part wasn't fun. Finnick guided her hands with his, though Johanna lost track of where they went, that is…until they reached the button of his pants. She jerked back, and noticed that both their shirts were already on the floor, and Finnick's chest wasn't the only bare one.

_Don't blush. Don't. He's seen already seen you half-naked, remember? So has the rest of Panem!_ That was probably what Johanna remembered most about her Games, not so much the blood or the screams, but humid, sweltering heat of the Arena. It seeped into her clothes and made them salty and sticky with her own sweat. When a wayward blackberry bush caught the hem of her shirt Johanna just said "Screw it" and let the bush have the damn thing.

It wasn't until she covered her sunburned breasts with mud that the sponsor gifts finally arrived. At first Johanna thought it was some kind of trap. Maybe it was.

Finnick gazed into her eyes in all seriousness as he squeezes her fingers. _Do it_, he mouthed.

"Finnick..I..I.." _Oh God, now you're stammering? You've gotta be kidding me._

"Trust me." This time heat rushed down her middle, and in between her legs.

"This is wr—"

"Right." Finnick smiled, squeezing her fingers again. His lips found hers, and his fingers tugged on hers.

Johanna couldn't think straight. She knew she shouldn't be doing this; she had a whole 'nother life back home. Finnick and the Capitol weren't supposed to be a part of it. Then again, when would Johanna Mason ever get another chance at this with Finnick Odair?

Her fingers undid his pants with a pop as she pressed her lips into his. Finnick's fingers found the button of her jeans, and before she could blink her pants had landed on the floor. _No regrets._

This time Johanna didn't hesitate, and Finnick's briefs came off with a tug. He gazed into her eyes as his slid off her underwear, and Johanna turned brighter than the apples on the table. Finnick's hand touched her cheek—

_Wham_.

Johanna's head swung left, and her right cheek stung from the slap. "Are you falling asleep on us, Mason?"

Suddenly, she couldn't seem to get enough air. "My bad." She coughed. "I guess I got b-bored." Why couldn't she breathe? _Oh God. _They smelled, and they were heavy, and they wouldn't get off her. Hopefully whoever slapped her didn't notice the tremor in her voice. Johanna had lost track of whether it was drone on her left or her right.

"Aw, does it hurt?" He slapped her again. "Are you _scared_?"

Johanna wheezed, thrashing against them. "Let _go!_"

He only thrust deeper, and the pain sent tears streaming down her cheeks. She could hear Peeta howling from the next room, though she didn't have the energy any more to make out what he was screaming about.

When he finished, Johanna dry heaved, trying to push the nausea away, but she had nothing to throw up. The two drones untied her from the chair, and let her crumble to the floor. She didn't feel safe, even when the door slammed shut.

* * *

Whew. Well, that was that. Hopefully it was a nice mix of love and hate. Also, I purposely made lots of ties between Johanna's present and past; see how many you can find! As always, I'm addicted to reviews, so feel free to pipe up if you have something to say. I apologize for the long wait, but I hope the extra-long chapter is worth it!


	4. Consequences

"Johanna, are you there?" Peeta sounded terrified.

"Of course I'm here, Flour Boy." Johanna snapped, but her words had less bite than before. Okay, maybe she was just a bit scared too. The nightmares had only been getting worse. Last time she dreamed about waking up next to Doug's corpse, and both of them were naked. The irony of it all made her laugh a little.

"Just making sure." Were his chains rattling?

Johanna sighed. "What have they been doing to you?"

"They keep injecting me with some kind of serum ever since the interview." Oh sure, Johanna Mason got beat to a bloody pulp and Peeta Mellark gets sit in a cushy chair and talk.

"What interview?" Then again, maybe Peeta had meant to say interrogation instead. Johanna remembered his screams with a shiver.

"With Caesar Flickerman. They want to know what I think of the Rebellion." His words were hollow, and they reminded Johanna of the listlessness of a swinging rope with nothing to tie itself to. _He knows_.

"We were going to tell you eventually. It wouldn't have worked if you guys were in on the plan. You two couldn't lie your way out of a dressing room."

"_I_ could have." Peeta's voice had only sharpened.

"You would have told her." Johanna rolled her eyes.

Peeta didn't say anything for a few minutes, though Johanna could feel the tension smothering both their cells. When he finally _did_ say something, it streamed from his mouth like blood from an artery. "Whatdoyouknowabouther?"

Johanna blinked. What did he mean? "You know her more than I do, Brainless."

"I thought I did but…now I'm not so sure." The sound of pain in his voice made Johanna swallow hard.

This time Johanna whispered, more to herself than Peeta. "What have they been doing to you?"

The slamming door interrupted their one-sided conversation. This time three men came in, two Peacekeeper drones, and a man in a surgeon mask. Johanna had a feeling he wasn't any normal doctor.

One drone held her head while the other pulled out an electric razor. Johanna would have fought them off, if it weren't for the flashbacks pounding through her skull. Sure, she didn't think she was all that girly, but Johanna preferred having short, spiky hair, over none at all. The drone was so graceful with the razor that it unnerved her, but every once in a while the blade would catch on Johanna's skin, and it made her hiss. It took a few nicks for Johanna to realize she was shaking. It only got worse when they took turns removing her clothes.

Without any sort of ceremony the drones dragged Johanna up a set of three stairs. She managed to make one of them fall off, but the other held fast, and within seconds she was completely naked and half submerged in a two foot water tank. Johanna curled up; one because it was the water was fucking cold, two because the idea of strangers seeing her naked no longer felt appealing.

The doctor put sensors on her bare skin that stuck so tightly they stung. Still, the sensors didn't bother her as much as the doctor's gloved hands, as if her skin was unclean. Johanna's insides boiled with rage. "Get your hands _off _me!"

"Ah-ah, _you're_ the one in control here, Miss Mason." The doctor's voice was sticky sweet. Just the sound of it made Johanna's stomach twist in a knot. "We can stop any time." He squeezed her arm. "Just tell us what you know."

"I know you're a fucking _asshole_."

His grip only tightened. "You of all people should know that's not the answer we're looking for."

"Let _go!_" In her struggle Johanna noticed the metal rods that looped into her tank. On the outside the rods were encased with rubber as thick as a wool sweater. On the inside, though, they were ominously bare.

The drones pushed her down inside the tub, and put a lid over it. Someone must've pushed a button, because the water started swishing like water on the seashore. Johanna braced the sides, doing her best to keep her head above water. Just when she thought she was done hearing the doctor's voice, it came through the waterproof speakers.

"Tell us about the Rebels, Johanna. This is your last chance." Funny, how they kept calling it that. Shouldn't she be dead by now?

Johanna heard a buzzing noise, and the swishing stopped. She saw a microphone sticking out of one corner.

"Those rods are more than mere decorations. They're conductors. Did Beetee ever teach you about what conductors do?"

Johanna swallowed, remembering Beetee's lecture on his favorite toy. How crucial that copper coil was to getting them out of there. How they couldn't beat the Capitol without it. Sure, most of it was in Beetee's awkward geek speak, but Johanna did understand one thing. That coil, and most metals, would take the lightning of the arena, and channel it to wherever they directed it to go. These rods were pointed right at her middle, and they were poised just underneath her ribs.

This could be it. Those drones might pull her body out of the tub when the doctor finally released the button.

"We need an answer, Johanna."

She swallowed hard. _Forgive me, Finnick_….

* * *

"Johanna, what are you doing?"

Finnick stood at least five steps behind her. _Huh. Since when does __**he**__ have personal space?_

"Finally scared of me, Finnick? You should be." Unlike the training center, or the victors' condos next door, this skyscraper had nothing to block her fall, nothing to throw her back.

"Scared of you? No. Worried for you? Yes."

The streets below seemed so far away. Like…even if she jumped, Johanna would never reach the ground. She would just keep falling forever. Would she even realize it the moment she slammed into the pavement? Would she land on a Capitol citizen and end their pathetic life along with hers? It should feel satisfying…but all Johanna felt at the moment was nothing…except for an ache somewhere in her middle that wouldn't go away. It didn't matter if she drank whiskey until she threw up, it was still there.

Finnick's hand waved in front of her face. "Hello? Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" _Who are you?_ Johanna swallowed hard. No longer recognizing the girl in the mirror, that was the worst. Worse than anything else the Capitol had to her, or her. _Stop it. Fucking stop it. _

"Why are you standing on the edge of the roof?" Finnick touched her arm, although a bit hesitantly.

"You tell me." Her voice had lost all its edge, its coyness, its biting remarks.

"You look like you're about to jump off." Finnick squeezed her arm, tugging it back to his chest. "I'm not letting you."

"Why not? I could get you killed." _I get everyone killed. Every person I touch…except Snow._

"You're my friend." How easy it was to believe him.

"I don't have any friends. They're all dead." Johanna swallowed hard as her eyes filled with water, unable to fight the images in her head. Doug sitting underneath their tree, not moving. Her younger brother Birch, who had turned a ghastly shade of yellow…almost like earwax. Her parents, who used to keep her up at night with their fighting, each of them holding each other peacefully still, neither of them making a sound. The reeking stench of snow white and blood red roses standing in gold vases around all of the bodies….

Johanna lurched forward over the edge, but Finnick held her fast, pulling her back onto the roof, back into safety. At first she fought his arms, thrashing left and right, but his strength was too much…it was all too much. And so she collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his chest.

Finnick didn't hesitate to wrap her in a tight embrace. "You can't give up, Johanna."

"Why the _fuck_ not?" Johanna pounded her fists against his chest, angry, feeling something besides darkness for the first time in three weeks.

"I care about you, for one." Johanna noticed that he didn't say a certain key word. _Why would you want him to, Brainless? Are you that fucking desperate? _"Two, I don't really think you want Snow to win, do you?"

"He wins either way!"

Finnick held her tighter. "Wrong. He only wins if you give up."

"Giving up and giving _in_ aren't that different." Johanna sniffed, hating how nice his arms felt; because she knew Finnick didn't belong to her.

"Maybe they are." Finnick grabbed her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, lifting her gaze toward his. "But I'm not saying you have to give in." He leaned closer and whispered. "Just _pretend_ you are."

His lips were inches from hers. _Not again._ And before Johanna could take another breath, his lips were on hers. Was this part of it? Pretending?

Finnick didn't let go of her, but his hand did move to her cheek. "Just promise me you won't try to kill yourself, ever again, okay?"

"What about _getting_ killed?" In spite of herself, Johanna grinned, only partially serious.

"You wouldn't dare." Finnick smirked. Promise made.

* * *

Johanna glanced up at the doctor until she made eye contact. She took one last breath of muggy air, and then she kicked the microphone bug out of commission.

Hours later the drones dragged Johanna to her cell, and she cried out with every step. After so many shocks her muscles forgot how to _move_, and forcing them to hurt so much. Her lip already bled from biting back screams. Johanna couldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing her pain, not again.

The drones tossed her into the cell none too gently, and she lay there unmoving for several minutes, trying not to come completely unhinged. In a ragged gasp she called out. "Peeta?"

"I think they killed my stylist team…or maybe it was a nightmare. I'm not sure."

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Johanna tried raising her voice, but her middle protested from the strain. So this is what it felt like to be old.

"Annie Cresta, from the 70th Hunger Games. You know her?"

_Unfortunately_. "Yeah."

* * *

Not sure how I feel about the last lines of those scenes. I love the new cover designs everyone's putting on their fanfics, but unfortunately I don't have the time to make one myself. Anyone want to make one for this fic? I'll give you a shout out on my profile, and at the beginning of chapter one.

We're drawing close to the end of this _Splatterlog_. I'm imagining just two more chapters, and then a sequel. Thanks for reading and feel free to send me some reviews!


	5. Lost

Splatterlog: Chapter 4: Lost

* * *

"I'm telling you she's one of their mutts! She already burned down my house, killed my family…" Peeta let out a wretched cry. It started out as sob, but it couldn't quite make it out that way. What kind of drugs had they put him on?

"Trust me Peeta, if she was a mutt, she wouldn't have bled when I cut out her tracker." Johanna hugged herself close, ignoring the protest of her shaking body.

"She's a mutt!"

"If you insist, Lover Boy." If anything, the sessions in the water tank were making sapping her will to argue with Peeta's ravings. It's not like they'd make it out of there alive anyway.

Oops. Apparently that particular nickname had bothered Peeta more than he let on. "I _don't_ love her. I _hate_ her! I wish she was _dead_!"

Johanna didn't know much about Peeta's drone sessions. They were quieter with him; they didn't yell at him for answers; they seemed to whisper it in his ears. All Johanna could hear was Peeta's protests, and they only got more agonizing as time went on. At first he defended his so-called lover, but as time went on Peeta seemed to hate her more than Johanna did.

Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but Johanna couldn't really stand Katniss Everdeen. Maybe she was too innocent, or too moral. At least that was easier to handle than her lack of brain power. _Sure you're not just jealous? _Jealous of what? Peeta didn't love her anymore…at least not the fucked up version who had wasted his life away here. Augh. Why did it matter? Their relationship was as fake as Capitol hair color.

_Maybe because your only real boyfriend is dead because of you_. Johanna started rehearsing the lines her mentor had her write down. _I didn't know that would happen to Doug._ She rubbed her bruised left arm. _I thought Snow was after me, not my family. _The shaking only got worse. _I thought the Capitol couldn't reach District 7…._

The door slammed open, and Johanna scrambled to compose herself. As usual, the guards didn't address her as they yanked her from the floor and dragged her into the hall.

"No! Stop…STOP! I don't want to see her anymore!" Peeta howled before breaking down into sobs. In spite of herself, Johanna flinched at the sound of his screams, and she failed to relax as his voice faded in the distance.

* * *

This time they had tossed her into a small room instead of a tank. A drain sat by her feet. Johanna glanced up and saw the showerhead above her. She felt cool metallic grooves running and looping beneath her hands and feet and ass like one of Beetee's computer chips.

"No one's left to save you. Thirteen's doesn't care what happens to Johanna Mason." That voice came from speakers at each corner of the room, so for all she knew the controls were miles away. Great. "Your fellow victors have forgotten about you." Johanna heard a click, and the lights around her switched off.

They weren't even asking questions anymore. That scared Johanna the most. She heard the familiar whirr of machines and water started raining down from the shower head. It felt nice, though too cold for a real shower. Johanna stood up, almost defiantly as the drops poured down her skin. _They want to break me, huh? Let them try._

Then she heard a buzzing noise that sent her heart down into her stomach. A tear slipped down her cheeks as the roar of electricity sent her slipping and falling to the floor.

The shocks, less steady than the water, tore her from the inside out. She didn't want to die like this. It felt like she was stuck out in a lighting storm, with no shelter in sight. This was no natural thunderstorm though, Johanna knew that much. Lightning rarely struck twice, but these shocks found her over and over…and over.

This was no heroic way to die. Johanna wasn't saving anyone. She had no one to die for, no one to shield. No one even watched, except crack doctors behind the controls.

Johanna sought the safe places in her head, but the shocks kept her mind from leaving this place. This torture session seemed to last forever, and she failed to notice when the blinding white lights snapped to black. Her body, prodded, punched, and socked beyond recognition, didn't see the point on consciousness anymore. When Johanna finally saw again, she only saw a memory.

* * *

"I have something to show you." Finnick whispered in her ear, as he held her arms. They stood on the platform at the train station, just after the end of the most recent Hunger Games. Not hers or Finnick's, but his tribute's win. It must've been nice to mentor a winner; someone you wouldn't see get torn to shreds on the screen; someone you wouldn't see screaming pitifully as one of the Careers pinned her arms against a tree.

Of course, Johanna always found it hard to dwell on her failings with Finnick's breath tickling her ears. "I've already seen the ocean, Finnick. Victory Tour, remember?" The celebration always happened at the beach, with peacekeepers surrounding the crowd with water guns. Apparently captive audiences were a Capitol favorite.

"Nah, this is something else. Something much better. Or I should say…_someone_."

"Finnick!" Someone called out from behind her.

Finnick's arms fell from around her middle as he ran around her. "Annie!" He moved so fast that he didn't even bother to look, and he knocked Johanna over before she could get out of the way.

From her tangled spot on the ground, Johanna looked up and saw Annie Cresta for the first time, wrapped up tightly in Finnick's arms. Hair as warm as chocolate flowed in gentle waves down past her shoulders and her eyes reminded Johanna of the forest in the sun. Whereas Johanna's shoulders stuck out in sharp angles, Annie's curves were soft.

Wave after wave crashed into the sand, and as the moments passed by Johanna witnessed a side of Finnick she hadn't seen before. At first she couldn't figure out what made Finnick so different with Annie around. And then Johanna realized it. Finnick wasn't smirking like he did around his fans and colleges, he was _smiling._ And it wasn't because of her. It would never _be _because of her.

Johanna's heart sank into her stomach when it dawned on her. Finnick and Annie were perfect for each other, and Johanna was still alone.

It was all too easy to put on her best smirks, and crack her most offensive jokes, most of which made Annie blush, some of which made her whiter than a corpse. Finnick never did realize that something had changed between them. He genuinely seemed happy to have his two favorite people meet in Panem in the same room. Annie seemed pleased to meet Johanna, or…as pleased as Annie could ever be, half-crazy as she was. Johanna played along, never letting on how she _really _felt, and she had them easily fooled. After all, Johanna did this every day the Capitol breathed down her neck. Johanna was a professional at playing games.

* * *

When Johanna woke up, she wasn't sure if she was still dreaming. She wasn't even sure she was still alive. It was like the electricity in her cell, _thank God_, went out. At least there wouldn't be any more visits to the _other_ cells. But shouldn't the drones have fixed the problem by now? At least, Johanna thought it had been a long time. It was hard to tell with nothing to break the monotony. No delivered meals, no water, no drones…not even Peeta's relentless chatter.

Johanna blinked. She hasn't heard him in a while. "Bread boy? You there?"

Nothing.

She pressed herself against their adjoining wall and listened.

Silence.

"Peeta! Answer me you asshole!" Johanna swallowed hard. _Don't panic. He'll be back soon, screaming about his so-called wife as always. _

She'd never been one to use a clock, but this was ridiculous. Johanna resorted to pacing around the perimeter of her cell, counting her steps one by one to tell time, kind of. 300 steps later and she still hadn't heard any sign of him. Not even his body shifting in his cell. She could only hear her own frantic heartbeat.

"Hello?" Johanna called out to anyone who could possibly be listening to her.

Nothing.

"Hey! I heard your mother fucked an avox!"

_Good God. They really _**are** gone. Johanna sank against the wall, waiting for her empty stomach to eat her from the inside out. She imagined the forest on a summer morning, with just enough mist to sink into her clothes. Not wet, just damp. She could practically feel it against her skin. Except something was wrong this time. It was too warm, and it smelled funny.

Johanna jerked as she finally recognized the hiss coming from underneath the door. _Gas!_

For the first time in forever she saw beams of light peeking underneath the door. At least, she did until the sleeping gas knocked her out.

* * *

Authors Note: So…I really am sorry about the delay. But, seeing as my town only gets about four sunny months a year, I had to make the most of it. That, and summer's a crazy time for two out of three of my jobs. There'll be one epilogue after this, and then a sequel! And now that the rain's back, you should be seeing more regular updates.

Thanks for all the reviews! It was so refreshing to know that I was missed, or that Johanna was, haha. Even if I don't reply, know that I read and cherish every comment you throw my way.


	6. Found

This wasn't the first time Johanna Mason had gone against all reason. It only made sense, that when she lay on the floor, with bruised and battered limbs sprawled out in each direction, she dreamed of the first time she consciously rebelled against Snow. It wasn't in the basement of Cinna's studio; it wasn't even in one of Plutarch's gigantic walk-in closets. If anything, it _should_ have happened in Beetee's computer lab, as that's where rebellions usually started, at least highly orchestrated ones, like the one Johanna eventually joined. But that one wasn't her first.

Johanna's fall from Snow's favor came not when she was in public, and not in any of the homes of her favorite people. Her time arrived, at the least likely of all places: at the dinner party of one of Finnick's "clients."

Oddly enough, Johanna had expected a white, linen table cloth and silver platters filled with the latest delicacies. Every Capitol-sponsored party she'd gone to involved some nauseatingly rich feast. Then again, this wasn't an official party, but a private one. Really, Johanna should have seen this coming, since she wouldn't have been invited, except for Finnick.

It was an accident. One of Finnick's highest-paying clients, a Capitol official's wife, had spotted the two of them at a bar. It was less than a week after Finnick's first "lesson." Every so often, the Capitol's favorite plaything would pull Johanna into the shadows to review what he had taught her. Johanna would be lying if she tried to say she didn't enjoy it. How couldn't she? Some women around here had to save up for months just to hold his hand, and Johanna got to shag Finnick Odair for _free_! He had just pulled Johanna back from the dance floor when the middle-aged woman stumbled into his arms.

"Finnick!" Her breath reeked of vodka and artificial flavoring. "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

Odair definitely tensed, whether it was for his dislike of Cleo's touch, or the fact that Johanna was there to see it, she never did find out. "Oh, hello, Cleo." And just like that Finnick's winning grin was plastered on his face. "What are you doing here? On a Tuesday?"

What the hell? Did this lady have a drinking schedule? Cleo nuzzled Finnick boldly, pulling him closer, clumsily tucking her charge card into his hands. "My husband decided to have his party tomorrow night, and he invited _Cashmere_ of all people. _Publicly_!" Cleo hiccupped into Finnick's neck.

"Oh?" Finnick played dumb, though Johanna had the feeling he knew exactly what was going on in this lady's trashy personal life. "I thought he had one last week."

"He _did!_" Cleo held his cheek firmly and her sharp nails grazed his cheek. Johanna wanted to tear the trash off of her friend, but the look on Finnick's face as he glanced at her stopped her cold. "But he decided to have _another_, and he _mailed_ that _bitch_ an invitation!"

Finnick didn't say anything, focusing on keeping the drunk woman from tumbling to the floor.

"So _I'm _going to have _my own_ party! At my apartment. Tomorrow night." Cleo wagged her finger in Finnick's face as she nearly poked his eye out. "You 'member where it is?"

Finnick nodded, still smiling like he did for all his fans. "Of course I do."

"Be there at 6 o'clock." Cleo stumbled back, noticing Johanna for the first time. Finnick visibly flinched, watching them both with his eyes wide. "Who's your friend?"

"Nobody." Finnick said quickly. "Shouldn't you be heading home? It's late." He tried to lead Cleo off. She wouldn't have it.

"You're the girl from Seven!" Cleo lit up like a fire cracker, gushing as if they were old friends. "You were _amazing_ this year. I couldn't stop watching as you hacked that guy off, piece by piece. Who knew he'd scream like a _girl_?"

Johanna frowned. She usually put on a playful face when people brought up her Games, but this was something she never talked about in front of Finnick. Shrugging, Johanna answered, "They usually do."

"_You_ should come with Finnick tomorrow! My guests will be so happy to finally meet you!" Cleo pulled her into a hug, only to be pulled away by the man behind her.

Finnick wrapped an arm around Cleo, holding her away from Johanna. She really had to hand it to him, he made it seem more like a half-hug than a vice grip. "Really? She's not their type. Trust me. Besides, I'm all they need, aren't I? You know I go both ways." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Johanna's stomach twisted into a knot. She hadn't thought about his clients much, assuming they were all lonely trophy wives with nothing better to do then pay for fucks with Finnick. Never, _ever_ had she considered the idea that some of them were men. Had Finnick ever…? Did he even _like_ guys?

"Nonsense! She'll be the life of the party!" Cleo laughed.

Finnick paled. "Cleo…"

The woman in question charged out of Finnick's arms. "Be there tomorrow at 6 with your friend. I'll accept nothing less."

And so, the two of them stood in Cleo's living room, or perhaps it was her dining room. Honestly, Johanna's upbringing hadn't much to say about multi-room houses. Back at her childhood home, a person was thrilled if his cabin had _one_ private bedroom. Only the victor village had running toilets.

Finnick took her by the elbow, guiding her subtly away from the guests who had already arrived. They passed platter and after platter of hors d'oeuvres and treats, but it was the far end that caught Johanna's eye. The bottle of champagne. Johanna grinned as she snagged herself a glass, much to Finnick's disproval. He, however, still took his own glass, pretending to sip it as the night went on.

Everyone wanted to talk to him, the female guests, and their dates. Finnick took it in stride, chatting it up on a myriad of topics Johanna didn't even know he was interested in. Johanna found the sheer amount of small talk stifling. Several times she tried to excuse herself, and every time Finnick held her close to him, as if he didn't want her out of his sight.

Soon enough, Johanna found out why.

With each touch, and brush against Finnick's body, a slip of paper slid into his hands, or sometimes in his pocket. Swallowing, he would pause and compare the slip the others already in his grasp, scanning each of them quickly. Johanna peeked over his shoulder and only saw a series of numbers, some larger than others. Finnick also nodded as he counted the stack after an hour. He sank when the number matched the number of lady guests, Johanna excluded, of course. Turning it over, he saw the personal stamp, and he met the eyes of Cleo herself. It was then Johanna realized what the slips were.

Bids.

Finnick smiled, but his grip on Johanna's arm shook. "What time?" He asked his host.

Cleo blushed, walking over to them, sliding her charge card into his hand again. "Is _now_ too soon?"

Finnick's eyes darted across the room, to a shadowy figure that Johanna noticed for the first time. Her friend's grip tightened on her arm, so much that it hurt. Their eyes met.

Johanna mouthed, "You don't _have_ to go with her."

Finnick smiled ruefully at her, and replied softly. "Please stay safe, and do _not_ leave this room without me." Finally, he released her.

"Finnick?" Johanna said in alarm, completely forgetting that the fluted glass was still in her hand.

"Be careful, Johanna, please." Finnick gave her one last glance as the door shut behind him with a final hiss.

Johanna knew that there were more people in the room besides her and _that guy, _but at the moment she felt very alone. Even the hum of the room had been drowned out by the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. With each blink the man was closer, and closer, until Johanna could feel his hot breath against her neck.

"A word, Miss Mason?" He said it so politely, but Johanna could tell his intentions were anything but. Despite all the food and drinks, he looked hungry. Very hungry. Hungry for her.

"You can't say it out here?" Johanna gave him a calculating look, not pulling out of his grasp, but not allowing him any closer either.

"Afraid not." His thumb brushed across her arm, as if he were testing the firmness of her body. "How about that room over there?" He pointed to a door across the room from the one Finnick was in.

Johanna knew then that she had to make a choice. She could be like Finnick, selling herself to the Capitol citizens, keeping everyone she knew and loved safe from President Snow's wrath. Or, Johanna could be herself. In the end, that's all she ever really had anyway. No matter how hard she tried, her friends and family had to make the effort to protect themselves; Johanna couldn't do it for them. The more she tried to play by Snow's rules, the more time he would have to threaten those she loved.

"No." For Finnick's face, Johanna really did try to be polite. She stepped back.

He stepped forward, blinking in confusion. "What?"

"I'm not interested." Johanna stopped herself before the word 'Sorry' came out of her mouth. She didn't care _who_ this guy was; she had nothing to apologize for.

"Miss Mason, I'm afraid you don't understand." And, just like that, he was in her face again. Unfortunately for him, his cologne failed to cover the sour smell of garlic on his breath. He whispered, "You're new. You won't likely get another opportunity tonight." Then he took her hand. "I promise I'll pay you handso—"

Johanna decked him right in the nose. Funny how he'd been so focused on getting her alone, he hadn't even noticed Johanna pulling her fist back for a solid straight punch. He tipped over and fell flat on his back, too stunned to catch the blood running down her face. Looking down, Johanna took inventory of her knuckles to make sure none were bruised; they weren't. Looking back up, she realized that the entire room was staring at her.

_Oops_. Somehow Johanna knew that this was the _opposite_ of careful, at least in Finnick's mind. On cue, the door across the room from her slammed back open, and out tumbled Finnick, with his shirt unbuttoned and his eyes wide in horror. For the first and probably last time Johanna could remember, Finnick had no words. Even as he pulled her out the door, so hard that her arm had a bruise the next day, Finnick said absolutely nothing.

* * *

The memory, like all of Johanna's thoughts at the moment, slipped away in a haze. Light beams slipped across the floor, sweeping from one end to the other. Distantly Johanna heard footsteps, and it seemed as if someone else's body was being lifted up one limb at a time.

_"Shit. Is she-?"_

_ Fingers touched Johanna's neck, pressing into her skin. "Yeah, she's alive." Ever so carefully, they turned her over, like a thread-bare rag doll on the verge of falling apart. "But she's in bad shape."_

_ "You aren't kidding." _

That voice. Johanna had heard it before. Where? Something…something about a screen. And grey eyes.

_"We're running out of time. We need to get out of here."_

_ "Hold on." _

Strong hands wrapped something around her, something warm. Though her nostrils were still burning from the gas, Johanna could have sworn she smelled something familiar. It smelled like the woods.

* * *

Wow guys! It's finally finished! Sorry it took me so long. I spent like…three weeks of November sick with a cold, then bronchitis. Not to mention I was writing a brand new novel for NaNoWriMo. I managed to finish _that_ on time, barely. It was awesome to get so many reviews and alerts while I was writing that. You guys are so encouraging.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story. I certainly enjoyed writing it…well, most of it. Those rape/torture scenes were pretty brutal to write. This fic really provided an outlet for me. Since in my novels, I have to adopt a certain voice early on, and in my first novel the prose is _very _different from this. Very elevated and such. In _Splatterlog_ I got to swear and write all the short phrases, sentences, and paragraphs I wanted. And it was a blast.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, I'll get to work on the sequel to _Splatterlog_. The working title right now is _Fragments_; I'll try to update this A/N if that changes. If nothing else, you'll be able to find it via my profile. Speaking of sequels, anyone catch onto the foreshadowing in the last scene? *laughs manically* I can't decide if the next novel will deal solely with Johanna's time in Thirteen, or if it'll go beyond that. We'll see.


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